


knocking wouldn't have helped

by ani_coolgirl



Category: Tron (1982), Tron (Movies), Tron - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-25
Updated: 2011-01-25
Packaged: 2017-10-15 01:56:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/155805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ani_coolgirl/pseuds/ani_coolgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/tronkinkmeme/3162.html?thread=936026">this</a> prompt on the kink meme: “'Caught after the act' - Character of Your Choice walks in on Flynn not *while* he's jerking off, but after he's finished and snoozing on his couch/bed/beanbag/whatever. It should be very obvious what he's been up to, pants still open etc. Bonus if Flynn wakes up while they're staring at him in embarrassment/lust/confusion/horror/all of the above, and is totally unconcerned :)</p><p>tl;dr *somebody* walks in on Flynn during a post-orgasm snooze, who it is and their reaction up to you :D"</p>
            </blockquote>





	knocking wouldn't have helped

The arcade is bustling, buzzing with the energy of youth, too much caffeine, and the unique type of joy brought on by having a pocket full of spare change. It’s not quite full, but within a few hours it will be overflowing with the after school crowd, hordes of teenagers joining the pack of jobless ingrates that seem to permanently haunt the place. Alan can’t quite fathom how it can be so busy in the middle of the afternoon, but then remembers that school’s been out for a week and that the ENCOM scandal turned the arcade into something of a tourist spot. The place is hardly ever empty now.

So he works his way to the back, trying his best to avoid the elementary-sized children’s undoubtedly sticky fingers and grimacing when several run into him anyway. Bon Jovi’s blasting from the jukebox, mixing with the sound effects of dozens of arcade cabinets and pinball machines and the excited shrieks of the kids playing them. Alan can feel the niggling of a headache beginning in the back of skull.

When he finally reaches the back and tries to enter the storeroom leading up to the apartment above, he’s stopped by a female employee, judging by the blue t-shirt with _FLYNN’S_ splashed boldly across the back.

“Excuse me, sir, this area’s employees only – oh, hi Mr. Bradley,” she says before he can identify himself. Alan has no idea who the girl is, but her nametag helpfully says “Marissa,” so he smiles at her like he knows who she is.

“Uh, hey,” Alan says a bit awkwardly. “Flynn around?”

“Sure, he’s upstairs,” Marissa replies. “Go right on up, Mr. Bradley.”

“Yeah, thanks, Marissa.”

The girl seems inordinately pleased that he used her name and brightly steps aside to allow him in the back room. Jesus, the workers are getting younger all the time, Alan reflects with a shake of his head as he climbs the stairs. He’d be suspicious of Flynn’s motives if… okay, never mind, he’s suspicious.

Alan doesn’t bother knocking when he enters the apartment; he’s too annoyed by this point. For the third time in two weeks, Flynn’s skipped out on a board meeting. Normally, Alan would save his tongue-lashing for the next day, but he knows for a fact that Flynn has a floppy that he needs to get any work done for the rest of the day. Flynn swore he’d bring it by within a day, but of course, he’d have to be at work to do that.

Flynn’s asleep on the couch. Typical. Alan rolls his eyes and immediately crosses the room to go paw through Flynn’s desk. “Floppy, floppy, floppy,” he mutters to himself, shifting aside handheld games and chewed up pencils in search of his storage disk. Jesus, Flynn’s desk is a mess. Combined with the noise from the arcade below, how he gets any work done at all is a mystery.

After several minutes of fruitless searching, Alan finally gives up decides to actually wake the other man up and ask. Flynn looks utterly relaxed in his sleep, hair an absolute mess, sprawled all over the couch, nuzzling up to one of the many pillows, drooling on it, and Alan would feel guilty about waking him up if he wasn’t so pissed about the disk –

Flynn’s dick is hanging out of his pants.

Right there in perfect view, is Flynn’s dick. Hanging out of his pants. Alan can do nothing but gape at the sight, too stunned to do anything else. Judging by the white smear on the couch and how one hand is still _halfway down his jeans_ it’s pretty obvious what he was up to –

Flynn snuffles and shifts, cracking one eye open. Alan is still frozen in place.

“Hmm… Jesus, Bradley,” Flynn moans, trying to hide his face into his pillow. “What time is it?”

Alan should stop staring at Flynn’s dick. It’s definitely not normal to be staring at his best friend’s dick. “It’s almost one,” Alan replies automatically, eyes still on Flynn’s cock.

“Too early,” Flynn whines, rolling over and placing a pillow over his head

With Flynn’s… _anatomy_ out of sight, Alan’s finally able to think again. “Early?” he says with a disgusted scowl. “Are you nocturnal? By the way, you missed a meeting. Again.”

“Nuh-uh,” Flynn argues sleepily. “Meeting’s at ten.”

Alan sighs. “Ten in the _morning,_ Flynn.”

Flynn peaks his head out from under the cushion. “Shit. Really?”

“Yes, really.”

With an exaggerated stretch – oh God, there’s his dick again, _hello_ – Flynn sits up, idly scratching at his belly, running a hand through his hair. “I was up all night, man, I just crashed.” It’s not until then that he seems to realize that his pants are open, but instead of tucking himself away and zipping his jeans up _like he should have,_ he just snorts in bemusement, wipes the hand that was down his pants on the couch, and moves his neck around until it pops.

He… he’s _sat there,_ Alan realizes with some horror. On the couch where Flynn apparently jerks off. Christ, there’s a bed _two feet away,_ why the hell does he feel the need to jerk off on his couch? That makes no sense. That’s unsanitary. Alan’s less grossed out than he should be.

“Whatcha doing over here anyway, man?” Flynn is clearly still half asleep. He throws an arm over his eyes.

“Floppy disk I loaned you yesterday. I need it back,” Alan replies vaguely. He’s trying very, very hard to look anywhere but Flynn’s crotch, but it’s not really working.

Christ, he’s _huge_ …

Alan’s pretty sure what he’s feeling isn’t penis envy. That’s not a good sign. Is there such a thing as penis appreciation?

“Nightstand,” says Flynn, waving in the general direction of the aforementioned piece of furniture. Alan spots his floppy disk, helpfully labeled “Alan’s floppy, not mine” with a yellow Post-It note. Alan snatches it up quickly, but doesn’t rush out the door, as he originally intended.

Flynn finally hops up off the couch with a groan, wandering over to the drawers on the side of the room with the bed. He pulls the drawer open and yanks out – what else – a pair of underwear. Back to Alan, he starts wiggling out of his jeans.

“Do you have no shame?” Alan grouses while _not_ staring at Flynn’s ass. Really.

Flynn just laughs, kicking the old pair of underwear onto his bed and pulling on the new pair. “Hey, the door was closed, man, and you didn’t knock. Besides,” he tugs his jeans back on, “I wasn’t the one checking me out.”

Sputtering, Alan’s cheeks turn red, and not entirely in anger. “I wasn’t – I did _not_ –”

“Relax, Alan,” Flynn zips up his pants, turning around with a grin on his face. “I’m just teasing.” Flynn “hurm”s at the white spot on the couch and flips the couch cushion over.

Alan crosses his arms and attempts to look as surly as possible to battle his rising embarrassment. “Yeah, well,” he grumbles, “it’s not that funny.”

That shit-eating grin hasn’t left Flynn’s face. “Sure it’s not.” He jerks his head towards the door. “You’re on lunch break, right? How ‘bout I buy you a pizza from the pizza joint down the street and we’ll go back to the office together, huh?”

Alan glances at him suspiciously. “You’re buying?”

“Anything, as long as it doesn’t have mushrooms,” Flynn confirms.

Alan shakes his head. What is it about Flynn that makes it impossible to say no to him? “Fine. But you’ve got to _promise_ to go to the Thursday meeting, alright? I’m not covering for you again.”

Flynn places a hand over his heart, holding the other in the air. “Scout’s honor. Now let’s eat. I need breakfast. Lunch. Brunch. Whatever.”

Alan allows Flynn to herd him over to the door. It’s impossible to stay angry with the man. The guy’s such a smug prick –

Woah. Stop that line of thought right there, Bradley.

“Hey, you know, I wouldn’t mind,” Flynn says casually as they head towards the door.

“Mind what?”

Flynn spins around, trapping Alan at the threshold. He’s smirking, shirt riding up and jeans resting low on his hips and looking…

Well, like he just woke up from a post-masturbation snooze. It shouldn’t look that good.

“If you were checking me out.”

Alan’s too baffled to move when Flynn tugs him foreword with by his belt loops – Flynn’s hands are _way_ too close to his crotch – until they’re pressed together, chest to chest.

“Just saying,” Flynn breathes into his ear –

– and then Flynn is down the stairs and out of the storeroom, leaving Alan utterly confounded at the top of the stairwell.

Glancing down at the slight bulge in his pants, Alan realizes he’s never going to be able to sit on Flynn’s couch again without awkward consequences.


End file.
